


A(nother) Christmas Carol

by ImagineBeatles



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 14:30:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15536313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImagineBeatles/pseuds/ImagineBeatles
Summary: A special twist to Charles Dickens’ famous, old story: A Christmas Carol.





	A(nother) Christmas Carol

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr in 2014 in several parts, now merged into one

Christmas eve was for many people the most wonderful evening of the year. The evening they have all been looking forward to ever since boxing day was over. The whole of England was decorated in the Christmas spirit. Houses with little lights and wreaths on the doors, snowmen with bowler hats and carrots as noses outside the door, made by children. And inside a big Christmas tree with all sorts of decorations. Even in the centre of London you could not escape it. Men dressed up as Santa Clause and elves, people with a red nose, like the reindeer, whose name John couldn’t remember, or the animal’s ears on their head. People singing songs and buying each other presents and kissing each other under a fake looking mistletoe. It was absolutely terrible, John thought.

            No, John didn’t like Christmas. Not at all. Not one little bit. He hated it. The fake cheeriness while there was nothing to be cheery about. Life was just as dreadful as it was when it was not Christmas. Wars were still going on, people were trying to save each other by eating stuff they really shouldn’t. Children were dying and people were killed every day over nothing.  Crime didn’t stop because it was Christmas, hunger didn’t stop because it was Christmas, nothing did. People could get stuffed with their “Merry Christmas” and “Happy New Year”. People said that every year. And did it get any better? Hardly so. Christmas was one big lie, in John’s eyes.

John stumbled inside his house just outside of London where he was living with his wife and child. Not that they were home. No, they were at Cynthia’s parents. Celebrating. Not that John cared much. He would rather smash his guitar into a million pieces, never to be able to be mended again, than spend Christmas there. But Cynthia seemed to care, so she was there and of course she took Julian with her. She knew how John could be with Christmas, high as a kite, or so fucking drunk he thought he could do anything. Thinking he was god, sometimes a rather violent one. It was better that Jules was with her. John knew that, but now… John was alone.

            John put down the bag with shopping down on the floor, took off his coat, scarf and gloves and hung them on a peg. He shook his head wildly, to get all the wet snowflakes out of his hair, looking like a wet dog, trying to dry himself as he did so. He picked the bag up again and walked to the kitchen. He wasn’t surprised when he found that his housekeeper had gone. He had given her the day off, of course. With it being Christmas eve. Though, it was more an excuse to get her out. She only got on his nerves when he was home alone with her.  She absolutely loved Christmas and wanted nothing more than change his mind about it. Stupid hag.

            He put the bags on the counter and took out his meal. Mashed potatoes with carrots and turkey. Turkey. So fucking Christmas like. It was a meal he only needed to heat up in the over so he just threw the turkey away. He didn’t want it. Fuck, Turkey had been the reason for his late shopping. He knew he should have said something to his housekeeper about not making him any Christmas food whatsoever, meaning; NO TURKEY. John put his dinner with a sigh in the oven and waited for it to be ready.

            John was glad he was famous now, though. Now he didn’t have to worry about people coming to his door to ask him for money with Christmas as excuse. Or people coming to his door singing Christmas carols or whatever. The only thing he needed to do was call his auntie Mimi. He had promised to do so, so he would. He loved his aunt. And he had promised her he would. John looked at the big ticking clock and found that he had time to phone her before his dinner was ready. He quickly walked out of his kitchen to the phone in the hallway.

            ‘Hello? Mimi?’ John asked as he heard his aunt pick up. He was immediately greeted happily, making him smile.

‘John, dear! How wonderful of you to call. I knew you would keep to your word.’ She said. John started playing with the wire.

‘Yes, well. You raised me well, Mimi. How are you?’ John asked. They had agreed not to start about Christmas. Neither of them cared much about it, so they just treaded it like any other phone call. John would inform Mimi about his family. Even though, Mimi still didn’t like the fact that John married Cynthia, knowing he could have married someone better, she adored Julian and wanted to know all about him. John told her about how musically talented his son was, but also very clever and how interesting he was. He told her about their coming tour with the band, their coming album and just little chit-chat. Just some small talk. At her turn, Mimi would tell him how she was doing, how terrible her new renter was and how much she missed him. John promised her to visit her soon before he said goodbye and hung up. Right at that moment the oven made a noise _,_ which let John know his dinner was finally ready to be eaten.

            John sat on the couch, television on, curtain closed and dinner on his lap as he ate in silence. He wondered what his mates were doing. George was probably with Patty, maybe in Liverpool with his family. He had told him he was planning to go. Richie was with Maureen, probably having their own Christmas dinner with a big turkey and mashed potatoes and carrots and beans and peas and pie for dessert, whatever kind of pie Maureen had baked again. And Paul was probably with Jane, being all cheery and lovey-dovey with her and all the other birds at his little annual Christmas party. John sighed and ate a bit of his potatoes. Paul loved Christmas. Always had. He was probably singing Christmas songs from the top of his lungs and drinking all the eggnog he could manage and snog every bird he could under the mistletoe, which were most of them.

John groaned disapprovingly at the thought and continued to eat and stare at the television as he tried to push the thought away. Then there was a commercial on and John immediately went to another channel, not caring what he was watching as long as it didn’t have to do anything with Christmas. Which was good, because the odds of finding something good without any Christmassy were very bad, so John couldn’t be picky. Commercials always had something Christmassy in them. John hated commercials at this time of year. 

            When John couldn’t find anything to watch, he just sighed and put telly off and continued to eat in silence. Not wanting to have anything to do with Christmas was difficult and John wondered briefly if he was the only one going through this hell. He hoped he wasn’t. John ate his carrots quietly, continuously reminding himself it was not the same as Richie’s Christmas dinner.

            Suddenly John heard a noise. It was a strange noise, which he could hardly place. John stopped eating mid-air and looked around the room. Then the noise came again. It sounded like footsteps, very quick ones, very light. John put his food away on the little salon table and sat up. It stayed quiet for a while, until John heard a hard knock on the door. He nearly jumped five foot in the ear. He grabbed the arms of his chair and sunk into a little ball, afraid of who had managed to get into his house. He knew it wasn’t some kind of psychopath who was going to kill him. They didn’t know how to get in.

‘Y-yes…?’ John asked after a few seconds of silence. His question was answered with another knock. John took a couple of deep breathes before sitting up and allowing his unknown visitor in by opening the door himself. His hands were trembling and his knees were weak. There was nothing behind the door apart from an icy breeze. He stared into the darkness for a bit before he asked with a trembling voice: “H-Hello? A-an-any b-body there?’ There came no answers.

‘I know you’re there!’ John shouted, a little more daring. Another cold breeze, making John feel as if he had just been dumped into a large bucked of ice water.

‘Could you please close the door. It’s getting awfully chilly!’ John shouted with a nervous laughter. There came  a loud bang and suddenly the cold was gone.

‘Er… thanks..’ John said, not quiet believing what was going on, ‘Paul?’ He asked it just to be sure. A dark sounding, but yet familiar laughter filled the air around him, making the hairs on John’s arms and legs stand up straight. 

            ‘Don’t you recognize me, Lennon?’ The same voice asked. John took a few steps back.

‘Excuse me?’ He asked, ‘What is going on here? Who are you? Where are you? W-what are you?’ John continued to move back and threw the door shut. The laughter came again. John jumped back on the couch and grabbed a pillow to hide himself behind. More laughter.

‘God, John. It hasn’t been that long ago. I thought you would at least recognise my voice. Oh, and throwing the door shut in one’s face, isn’t very polite. I thought your auntie Mini would have told you that. With her being all proper and all.’ The voice told him. John didn’t answer. He just stayed on the couch, telling himself this wasn’t truly happening and that someone must have put something in his food.

‘Fine, if you won’t open the door for your old friend, I shall just have to do it myself.’ The voice said. And before John had even opened his mouth to reply, the door flew wide open with a loud swoosh of that cold wind again. John closed his eyes and buried his face in the little pilling which he was still holding onto tightly. He shrieked as he felt a cold hand on his shoulder. He looked up and turned his head to the direction of where that hand might be coming from. His heart skipped a beat and he felt himself get dizzy as he looked straight in the eyes of his old, best friend, Stuart Sutcliffe. Or better still; dead friend Stuart Sutcliffe who had left his heart in Germany, whom he hadn’t spoken to in four years.

‘Stu…’ John mouthed. Stuart smiled at him soothingly.

            John sat with his knees drawn up on the couch with a thick blanked draped over his body, only leaving his head out in the open. In his hand he held a muck of steaming, hot tea. On a fauteuil opposite of him, sat Stuart, looking at him with worried eyes and with a painted smile on his face. Stuart looked bad. He was as white as a sheet and was nearly see through. His leather clothing was ripped and dirty and he didn’t wear any shoes. His hair was greasy and unstyled, but John could still see something of his old hairstyle in there. His eyes were big and blood-shot. He had dark circles under his eyes and his lips were red, bloody and broken. John could see a few bruises and cuts all over the man’s body. He looked a mess. Even for a ghost.

            ‘Are you alright now?’ Stuart asked. His voice on the other hand sounded fine and John could even hear a little bit of a German accent in there somewhere. It made him smile faintly. He nodded.

‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost, though.’ Stuart continued with a wink and a self-content smile. John didn’t laugh.

‘Eh, It was a good joke. Admit it son, my humour is unearthly good.’ He said. This did make John laugh a bit, but it sounded uncomfortable. Stuart noticed.

‘John, I could stay here and talk to you and ask you all sorts of questions and you could ask me and make up your mind about whether or not I’m real, but that’s not why I’m here. To be honest. I don’t even really have that much time. So you have to just assume that I _am_ real and you shall have to believe me. I don’t do this often.’ Stuart informed him. John nodded weakly.

‘Good. Now… I’m here… to help you. To save you, even. And you need to thrust and believe me, because I am serious when I tell you that you are a complete idiot who’s at the point of ruining not only his own life from this point on, but also of the one person for whom you care the most for.’

‘And you really are real?’ John asked as he sat up and reached out to touch the person sitting in his front room, not being able to control himself. Stuart backed away quickly, causing John to fall over forward onto the floor.

‘Yes, I am. Now, please pay attention. I have to leave soon.’  Stuart answered him.

‘Wow…’ John continued as he sat back up, ‘A real ghost. I my room. Stu, I missed you man. Astrid. She misses you. Did you visit her as well?’ John asked.

‘No. No, I did not, because she isn’t going to ruin her life if I won’t go to her.’ Stuart answered, rather annoyed.

‘Fucking hell…. I must be dreaming. A fucking ghosts. Have you met anyone good up there?’

‘John, please. For fuck’s shake. Pay attention. You just promised me to listen. I don’t have much time.’

‘But Christ… a real ghost. No one will believe this. Well, the think I’m nuts already anyways.’ John continued. Stuart groaned and rubbed his temples in frustration.

‘John… Please…’

‘Why come to me, though? Oh, Buddy Holly! Fuck, Stu. Please, tell me you’ve met him. Why didn’t he come with you? I’m John fucking Lennon! Surely he wouldn’t mind meeting me.’

‘Because he’s busy doing other shit and I’m your friend so it’s my fucking job to fucking keep you from _killing_ _yourself_ , DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!’ Stuart shouted suddenly, his voice darker and eerier than before. John immediately fell quiet and nodded quickly as he let the words sink in.

‘Kill meself?’ He asked, his voice sounding quiet and weak again.

‘Yes, now… Shit, I have to go. Well done, John. Now I can’t explain. Well, the others shall just have to do that then.’

‘Others?’

‘Would you stop asking questions?!’ Stuart ordered angrily. John quickly mimicked zipping his mouth shut. Stuart sighed with relieve.

‘Thank you. Now, you shall be visited by three ghosts and-‘

‘Including you?’

‘NO ,NOT INCLUDING ME! Now shut your fucking gob.’ There was a brief silence before Stuart began to talk again, his voice sounding much more mysterious. Smoke came in from under the door, the couch, his closet, everywhere. John looked around quickly, still not believing what was happening, as he listened to his old friend.

‘Now, you shall be visited by three ghosts tonight. The first coming at one o ‘clock. The first  being the one of Christmas Past, the second of Christmas Present and the last of Christmas Yet To Come. They will take you places and show you everything you need to know. Just keep in mind not to make them angry and always remember for whom you’re doing this.’ Stuart told him.

‘For whom?’ John asked.

‘Paul, John. Dear Paul McCartney.’ And without another word Stuart was gone. Leaving John alone and shaking in on his couch in the dark.  

* * *

 

John didn’t really know what to think about what had just  happened. Surely Stuart Sutcliffe hadn’t actually been sitting in his living room. That was just dumb right stupid. He couldn’t have been. The git has been dead for four years! Could he have been high on something? He hadn’t actually smoked something bad, had he? No, that couldn’t be it. He hadn’t touched any drugs in the last two days. He hadn’t been drinking either, so… Maybe he was going crazy. Maybe finally the madness of being a Beatle had caught up with him and he was now ready to be put in a madhouse. John shook his head, got himself a glass of water from the kitchen and an aspirin, just to be sure. Then he quickly went upstairs. It was late anyways. And he needed some sleep. That could have been it. He was just tired. With a good night’s rest he’d be all better the next morning. Yes, tiredness… that _must_ be it.

 

            John undressed quickly and got into bed as quick as he could, wanting to fall asleep as soon as possible and sleep as long as possible. Tomorrow it would be Christmas day. Just two more days and this Christmas hell was finally over. John sighed contently at the thought as he wrapped the thick, woollen blankets tightly around him. He wiggled a bit in his bed until he lay comfortable. Yes… bed… now, that needed a holiday to be celebrated. John closed his eyes with a yawn and forced himself to think about meeting Elvis. He’d like to dream about that. Meeting Elvis. God, he wanted to meet Elvis. John could bet he didn’t like Christmas either.

            It was completely dark when John opened his eyes again. He didn’t remember what had awoken him exactly, but he knew it was something that shouldn’t have been there to waken him up, for normally he was a very deep sleeper and rarely something woke him. He slowly sat up in his bed and reached to his side to flick on a light, lighting up the room only weakly, but enough to see. He saw nothing. Well, not nothing, but nothing that could have awoken him. He yawned and rubbed his eyes. It was awfully quiet in the room and little to no light came in through the windows. John wondered what time it was. He picked up his watch from his nightstand. One o’ clock. John knew it should mean something to him. That something was supposed to happen at that time, but he couldn’t remember. He sighed to himself, threw the watch somewhere on the bed and got up. His throat was dry. He needed some water.

            When John walked back into the bedroom, glass of water in his hand, he nearly dropped it and he shrieked loudly in shock. Some water splashed over his hand, wetting his bare feet and the carpet. John didn’t even pay attention to the uncomfortable feel off water sliding between his toes.

‘Oh… my god.’ John mouthed as he stared at the comfy fauteuil in the corner of the room. Not believing what he was seeing, John rubbed his eyes with his free hand and let himself lean against the doorframe. The fauteuil, it was… floating.

‘Don’t just stand there. Come in! It’s your house.’ A light, high pitched but sweet sounding voice called him from the chair. John swallowed thick and nodded as he took a step forward.

‘Now, I’ve truly gone mad.’ He muttered to himself, ‘Stu… you’re the first ghost, aren’t you? Stu… he… he told me… god, what kind of drug did I take now?’ John nearly fainted as a yellowish glow appeared on the seat of the fauteuil.

‘Yes! That’s me. How good of you to remember. I’m not late, am I?’ The yellow glow asked as it slowly began to form a shape. John squinted his eyes and tried to see what it was forming. It took the light about five seconds before it had transformed in a little guy, no more than three feet high, wearing something that seemed like a sleeping bag, fitting him as some kind of dress, coming no higher than his chest, leaving the collarbone bare and shoulders bare. John rubbed his eyes again as he noticed the ghost had a pillow in the shape of a candle on top of his head with little white hairs coming out from under it.

‘N-no… You’re… perfectly on time.’ John answered as he took a quick sip of water as if it was a drink. God, he needed a drink.

‘Sorry, but… should I know you?’ John asked. The ghost cocked his head to the side and a playful grin formed on his lips.

‘No. But it’s alright if you do.’ He answered him in that same cheery voice again. He giggled a little right after and wiggled his feet like a little child. _What kind of answer is that?! John thought._

‘Please. Sit down, boy.’ The ghost told him. John smirked at that.

‘Sorry, Ghost, but I’m older than you.’ He said. The grin vanished from the ghost’s face. John swallowed thickly, remember Stuart’s words about not pissing a ghost off.

‘I would prefer it if you’d call me spirit, rather than ghost. I’m not some kind of stuffy, unmannered, bad thing, alright. No. I’m here to help you. And I’m much older than you.’ The spirit told him firmly. John noticed the ghosts, err, spirit’s yellow colour going a bit more red and then yellow again. John walked over to his bed and sat down, pulling the covers over his legs so he wouldn’t be too cold.

‘Are you?’ John challenged him playfully, ‘Spirit?’

‘I’m two hundred and fifty-seven, thank you very much. I don’t think that comes even near yours.’ The spirit answered with a knowing grin.

‘No… indeed it doesn’t.’ John replied. _What the hell am I doing? Talking with a fucking spirit? John thought to himself._

‘Do you have a name?’ John asked curiously. The spirit giggled again.

‘You’re a bit of a talker, aren’t you. That’s fine. It’s a nice change. Most people don’t say anything, being far to flabbergasted about seeing me, I guess. And it’s Mike. Well, Michael actually.’ The sprit replied. John eyes widened at that. That’s of whom the spirit reminded him. Young baby Michael. Paul’s baby brother. The photographer. The face, yes… It was merely the face. His personality wasn’t like Michael’s, but that face. Just like him. John leaned back against the wall with a sigh.

‘You’re supposed to be Paul’s brother.’ He said with a grin, pointing at the spirit’s face. The spirit called Mike just seemed to be confused about that.

‘No… I… I don’t think so. Of course you can pretty much imagine me to be anyone you like. Why Michael, though? Oh, yes! Of course, how stupid of me.’ The spirit hit himself in the face with a flat hand and giggled, ‘Speaking of Paul, John. Where is he?’ John eyed the spirit carefully, not quite understanding what he was talking about.

‘Home probably. With Jane. And some pretty girls. Having his Christmas party.’ John almost spat those last two words out.

‘Oh,’ said the spirit, ‘Not a big fan of Christmas, are you?’

‘No. It’s rubbish. Junk. Shit. Whatever you prefer.’

‘Jolly?’ The spirit offered. John laughed loudly at that.

‘Hardly so.’ He answered.

‘You used to love Christmas, though.’ The spirit Mike told him. John furred his brow and shook his head.

‘Yes, you did. It’s okay if you don’t remember. That’s why I’m here for.’ The spirit giggled again. John sat up a little, being curious now.

‘ _Why_ exactly are you here?’ he asked. The spirit laughed and smiled his playful smile again. John wondered why it wasn’t annoying him as much as it should.

‘To help you, of course. And Paul. Oh, sweet Paul.’ The spirit answerd.

‘Yes, Stuart told me that. But why? There’s nothing wrong, right?’ John asked. The spirit cocked his head and looked him straight in the eye.

‘Isn’t there?’

‘I er… well I don’t know… We… I..’ John stammered.

‘Why don’t you know?’ The spirit interrupted him, still sounding jolly. John fell silent, not knowing the answer.

‘And that’s why I’m here. To show you. Take my hand.’ The spirit told him and offered him his hand. John looked at it and bit his lip, not being sure about it.

‘Come on, Johnny boy. What have you got to loose anyway, right?’ The spirit pushed him on. John took a deep breath and reached out to take the spirit’s hand. As soon as his fingertips brushed against the palm of the spirit’s open hand everything around him was falling away like the rain does to a handsome-looking chalk painting on the street. John felt his stomach drop and himself getting dizzy. Everything went black. John closed his eyes so he wouldn’t throw up.

            The room John and the spirit found themselves in was small, cramped but cosy. There was a big, comfy-looking couch in front of a little fireplace, which was burning, giving the room a nice smell of burning wood and warmth. There was a big rug on the floor and next to the couch stood a small Christmas tree with a few presents under it. On top of it stood a proud star. The only lights that lit up the room were the fire and the lights on the tree. A soft humming came from a door that probably let to the kitchen. John swallowed thickly as he recognized the voice and realised what house he was in.

‘Do you know where you are?’ The spirit asked him. John nodded quickly.

‘Of course. As if I could forget.’ He spoke, his voice a little too weak for his liking.

Right at that moment a little boy ran out of the kitchen door, running as fast as his little legs could carry him. The spirit smiled his smile as the sight of it.

‘Mummy? Can we open presents now?’ The little boy asked in a high pitch voice.

‘That’s me.’ John whispered softly. The spirit moved to stand a little closer to him.

‘It’s alright. They can’t hear you. You’re merely a spirit right now. Like me.’

‘God forbid I’d be a ghost.’ John joked. The spirit gave him a warning look and his light turned a little orang-y. John winked at the spirit called Mike, making him giggle and turn yellow again.

‘No, luv. Not yet. This evening. First we’re going to have some dinner. I made turkey.’ John heard his mother yell from the kitchen. His heart stopped a moment as she walked through the door with a small turkey in her hands.

‘It’s not much, is it?’ The spirit asked. John shrugged.

‘It’s a turkey nonetheless.’ He answered with a smile as he watched his younger self jump up from underneath the little tree,  running over his mother and holding her leg tightly to hold himself up as he reached upwards to the golden turkey.

‘Now, come on, John. Let’s go eat.’ Julia spoke as she put down the turkey on the dining table and helped John sit at the table. She herself sat down next to him.

‘Is daddy coming, too?’ Little John asked her.

‘No.’ John answered for her, his voice ruff. He could feel the spirit’s eyes on him.

‘He didn’t come. He never did.’ John said as he turned to the spirit, who he realised now was floating. The spirit gave him a weak smile. John looked back over his shoulder to the scene of his mother telling him dad was at sea, working.

‘See.’ John said, ‘Nothing changes with Christmas. It’s still the same as the days before. And after.’

‘B-but… can’t he come home for just a little while?’ John heard the younger him ask hopefully. He saw Julia ruffling his hair and placing a kiss on top of his head. He felt hot tears burn behind his eyes.

‘No, sweetie. They can’t just come back for that. It’s work.’ She explained.

‘But I want him to!’ Little John said in the best angry voice he could manage.

‘Let’s just eat, okay.’ Julia answered him tiredly. John turned back to the spirit.

‘Can we go?’ he asked. The spirit nodded and offered John his hand again. John took it and closed his eyes, letting everything fade away again.

When the colour returned, they were in yet another room. John sighted tiredly and leaned against the wall as he realised they were at his auntie mimi’s home, Mendips. He hadn’t realised how much he actually missed this place. How much he missed Mimi. Of course he talked to her nearly every day on the phone, but seeing here on her couch reading a book, glasses on her nose, ciggy between her fingers, a rush of nostalgia came over him.

‘Christmas wasn’t always bad for you, you know.’ The spirit spoke to him. John turned to face him with a guilty look on his face. The spirit giggled.

‘It’s alright. Most people don’t remember the good days. They’re just to common. People find them normal and not something to remember. Shame really.’ He said. John hummed at that and looked at his aunt again.

‘This must have been before… before Uncle George died. He made sure everything went okay with Christmas. He even cooked so Mimi didn’t have to.’ John told the spirit. The spirit nodded and pointed towards a door. John could hear merry singing coming from behind it and the smell of turkey filled his nostrils at the same time. It smelled delicious and he hummed.

‘Uncle George sure knew how to cook a turkey.’ He mused as the door opened and his uncle and his 12-year-old version walked in. Mimi looked up from her book with a happy and content smile.

‘Mimi, Mimi, Mimi, look at the turkey. Doesn’t it look delicious?’ Johnny asked his aunt as he took her hand and tried to pull her up from the couch.

‘It sure does, John. Let me finish this last page and we’ll have dinner alright?’ His aunt told him as his uncle placed the turkey on the table with the other foods. Johnny clapped in his hands enthusiastically and sat down next to her, looking at what she was reading.

‘Is it good?’ He asked her. She nodded and continued reading.

‘What’s it about?’ Johnny continued asking.

‘Do you really want to know?’ His aunt replied. Johnny shook his head.

‘She was reading Dickens that evening.’ John told the spirit who just nodded.

‘No. I’m reading Alice in Wonderland again. It’s so good. Have you read it, Mimi?’ He asked her. Mimi sighted and closed her book with a light smile.

‘No. But I will one day. Because it’s your favourite book.’ She told him. Johnny sat up proudly and nodded happily before standing up and pulling his auntie’s hand again.

‘Can we go have dinner now?’ He asked her sweetly. Mimi looked up at her husband.

‘If your uncle is okay with that, then yes.’ She said. Johnny turned to look at his uncle with big, hopeful eyes.

‘Then let’s have dinner!’ The man said, making John smile broadly and hurry over to the table, dragging his aunt along.

‘Alright, John. Alright.’ She said. She sounded firm, but John could now see her smile and the twinkle in her eyes.

‘She never smiled like that again after Uncle George died.’  John spoke quietly, more to himself than the spirit.

‘That’s just what you think.’ The spirit replied. John turned back to the dinner table where the younger him was watching with big eyes as George played with the knives to impress him and his auntie told him to cut it out. His uncle just grinned and winked at her playfully.

‘There’s nothing more to see.’ He heard the spirit say as his uncle stood up to cut the turkey. John turned to the spirit with big eyes and opened his mouth to complain, but before he had the change to, everything faded again. The spirit’s giggle filled the air around him, making him feel dizzy again.

            Next they were outside. It was cold and freezing. The streets were slippery and there were icicles hanging from the roofs and it was dark, only stars lighting the streets and lights coming from the houses.

‘John! You Fucking idiot! No! You can’t use paint for that! Ugh! Just… Ugh no! Get off me, you arse!’ John heard Stuart cry out with laughter. He turned around to face an all too familiar house. Or flat, rather. It was the flat he had Stu had shared. When they were younger. John remembered that particular line. He remembered his Christmas. It had been a happy one, which was why it hurt him so bad. He stepped closer to the window and looked through it, after rubbing some condense away with his sleeve.

‘You remember this, don’t you?’ The spirit named Mike asked with that happy giggle again. John nodded and smiled as he saw Stuart run around the house, wearing nothing more but some very festive undies. They were red with little reindeers on them, with red shiny noses. Rudolf, that’s the name of that reindeer. John smirked to himself as he saw his nineteen-year-old self running after him. He also only in boxers. With Santa hats. He wondered if he still had those.

‘Now you’re just messing with me.’ He told the spirit, who in return just giggled naughtily. He shrugged.

‘Everyone is a little naughty sometimes, John.’ He said as he continued to giggle. John giggled as well and shook his head as he looked back inside. The other John had Stuart in his arms as the man held some mistletoe above their heads. John kisses his cheek teasingly, getting a punch against his shoulder as a punishment before he leaned back in and pressed his lips against Stuart’s. He saw Stuart smiling into the kiss and letting the mistletoe drop next to him before running his fingers through  John’s auburn hair. He saw himself pull away with a knowing grin, letting his hands move down over Stuart’s chest and hips until he got to the man’s groin and cupped it in his hands. John could almost hear Stuart moan and he felt a familiar tinkle within his trousers as he continued to watch. Stuart cupped the cheek of the younger John and pulled him back against him, opening his mouth to kiss him properly. Slowly Stuart moved back, pulling John with him, cupping his arse and into the bedroom. The door shut with a loud bang.

            ‘You don’t celebrate Christmas like that anymore, do you?’ The spirit asked, whispering it in his ear. John bit his bottom lip, trying to remind himself what happened after they went in.

‘Why would I? There’s no one to celebrate with.’ John replied coldly.

‘Isn’t there?’ The spirit asked him knowingly. John shook his head.

‘How about Paul?’ The spirit asked. John shrugged.

‘What about him?’

‘You seem fond of him.’

‘He’s my song writing partner. My bandmate. My friend.’ John answered.

‘Nothing more?’

‘No. That..’ He nodded at the room where he and Stuart had just made out in, ‘That was just a one-time thing. Nothing more. Just… fooling around.’

‘Stuart doesn’t seem to think so.’

‘Stuart is dead.’

            ‘Where are we now?’ John asked as he rubbed his eyes. The spirit smirked at him and cocked his head with a giggle. It slowly started to annoy John.

‘Don’t you regonize it? You should. You’ve spend days here, nights even.’ He answered. John gave the place one last look around.

‘Paul’s…’ He muttered softly. The spirit nodded with a smile.

‘It is indeed. It’s the year 1963, only one year ago. And guess what? You’re not with your family. You’re with Paul. Why’s that?’ The spirit asked him.

‘Aren’t you supposed to know everything?’ John asked as an answer. The spirit shrugged and giggled.

‘See it as a question a teacher would ask.’ He said. John snickered.

‘I was never much good at that.’ He said. The spirit gave a false laugh.

‘Funny. Now tell me.’ He almost ordered. John’s breath caught in his throat as he saw the spirit’s light get a little orange.

‘We had a fight.’ John said.

‘About what?’

‘My job. Jules.’

‘Tell me.’

‘Rather not.’ John said with a fake smile. The spirit grew a little more orange. John sighed.

‘Fine. She wanted me to be home more. Help with the baby.’

‘And?’

‘I told her no! It’s not that I didn’t want to, but… It’s music. The touring, the recording, the gigs, the interviews, it’s part of the job.’

‘Did she understand?’ The spirit asked.

‘What do you think, you nuthead. If she did, I wouldn’t have been here, now would I?’ John snapped at the spirit, who grew completely orange now. John knew he had to be careful now. He took a deep breath.

‘And Paul?’ The spirit asked, his voice stern now. John kept quiet.

‘He didn’t either, did he?’

‘He took me in his home. He had a Christmas party going on and left them for me. All those girls, clinging to him, Jane not even giving a damn. I was pissed off at him, god knows why. I shouted at him as he told me I could be home more. I left.’

‘But he ran after you.’

John opened his mouth to say something but right at that moment the front door to Paul’s house swung open and an angry looking John stormed out in the cold and dark night. Paul quickly followed behind.

‘John! John, luv! Wait! I… I didn’t mean it like that! Just come back, would you!’ Paul shouted. John heard himself groan and saw how he turned around and walked back to Paul and pushed him, only lightly, but Paul wobbled and struggled to find his balance.

‘Fuck you, Paul. Mr know-it-all. You’re a right damn fucking dickhead, Paul. _I_ ’m the one with the child. What would you know about raising a child and combining it with work, anyway.’ John shouted at him.

‘I told you already I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just… maybe getting on that trip with Brian wasn’t the best idea.’ Paul answered sternly. John fell silent.

‘I still don’t understand how he does that.’ John told the spirit, who didn’t reply.

‘John, luv. I know things have been hard on you. I understand, but you need to start thinking things through.’ Paul told him. John again didn’t reply. Paul sighed and let John to the curb where they sat down. John and the spirit watched as younger John and Paul talked. They waited quietly. John wondered why Mike the spirit showed him all of this, until…

‘Do you remember, John? What you told me that one time when we, well you mostly,’ he giggled, ‘were drunk?’

‘What?’ John asked softly.

‘About the stars. Your mum’s star?’ Paul clarified. John took a deep breath and nodded slowly, turning his head to look at Paul, who was looking up at the stars.

‘I never really thanked you for that.’ Paul said, almost as a whisper, as if no one but John was allowed to hear what he said. John blinked a few times, looking straight at Paul. John watched the pair curiously. He hadn’t realised they had looked like that. He hardly remembered this at all. It seemed like such an important moment now, but then… only trivial. Most of the times he spend with Paul were, he thought.

Paul’s eyes lowered themselves and he bend his head with a nervous giggle, before looking up, keeping his head lowered. John remembered how Paul had looked from that angle. So beautiful… with those plumb, pink, luscious lips, soft hair and dark, long eyelashes against pale cheeks. He sighed at the thought. Paul’s eyes lowered themselves until he was staring at John’s lips. John couldn’t remember that. He couldn’t look away. He was transfixed. Then, Paul leaned in slightly, but he stopped halfway, his breathing getting caught in his throat.

‘I should go.’ He said softly, his voice hoarse. The younger man raised to his feet, got up and walked away. Younger John followed him with his eyes as he walked back to the house.

‘You could have kissed him.’ The spirit told him.

* * *

 

John and the spirit walked quietly together. They hadn’t spoken after the scene with Paul and him. John hadn’t wanted to, and though he was still rather worried, the spirit was still bright yellow, so guessed he was okay with the not talking as well. John did wonder where the spirit called Mike was taking him next. So he asked.

‘Nowhere.’ The spirit answered him with that giggle again. John bit the inside of his cheek not to lose it right there.

‘What’d you mean? Nowhere?’ John asked him, his voice being on edge. The spirit shrugged with a smile.

 

‘Just, nowhere. I still want to talk to you, so we’re walking until you want to talk to me.’ He said friendly. John groaned at that.

‘So, basically you’re just wasting my time here.’ He accused the spirit.

‘Oh, no. We’ve got plenty of time left. There’s no hurry.’ The spirit answered with a giggle.

‘Listen, _ghost_ , I’m bloody well not going to talk about bloody well anything, so you are wasting my time. Bring me home!’ John shot at him angrily. His heart sped up as he saw the spirit’s yellow colour turn to bright orange in not even half a second. He bit himself again to keep calm.

‘I told you no to call me ghost!’ The spirit told him harshly, his voice cold and stern, ‘And yes, you will talk. You have to!’

‘No I don’t, I…’

‘Why didn’t you kiss him?’ The spirit inquired sternly,  now turning a little more red. John didn’t say anything and turned away again, showing the spirit his back like a spoilt little child, his arms crossed against his chest.

‘Why. John.’ The spirit repeated. John shook his head stubbornly.

‘I know why you don’t want to talk about it. Why you don’t want to say why you didn’t. You were scared. The great John Winston Lennon, scared. For what? Just a simple little kiss.’ The spirit teased him. John turned back around angrily, not caring about the tears that burned in his eyes.

‘It’s not that!’ He shouted, ‘You don’t fucking know me!’

‘Well, what was it then? Tell me, John. Tell me why you chickened out!’ John’s eyes grew wide as he saw the fierceness in the spirit. Stuart surely had been right when he had warned him about pissing off a spirit.

‘I know you, John. Better than anyone else. I can see inside your head. I can read you. I _know_ you. I’m close to _being_ you! You were scared. Like a little child!’ The spirit shouted at him. He was now completely hot burning red.

‘Okay! Okay, yes! Yes I was fucking scared!’ John admitted to the spirit before he realised what he was actually saying. He bawled his hands into fist, ready to attack the spirit if needed.

‘And why was that?’ The spirit shouted back at him.

‘Because I loved him! I love him, okay!’ John’s eyes grew wide and he clashed a hand over his mouth. Had he really just admitted to loving his best mate? Paul? John barely noticed the spirit’s colour returning to yellow.

‘Indeed,’ He said quietly, ‘You love him. My work is done here.’ John looked back up at the spirit, wanting to ask what he meant by that and what was going to happen. But when the words finally left his mouth, he was already sitting on his bed again, sweat dripping off his forehead.

            ‘You’d better wipe that of your forehead, luv.’ John heard a female voice say to him. He groaned in frustration and let himself fall back on the bed.

‘Oh god. Not another one.’ He almost growled. He could hear the lady spirit laugh.

‘No. No, enough with the giggles.’ John said as he sat back up and tugged his legs under his bum so he could sit on them. His eyes widened as he looked up at a beautiful young lady. She wore a long dark green dress, which was longer than needed, for some of the fabric, which looked like silk, drooled around her feet, making at appear if she was actually coming from the ground. Her eyes were the same shade of dark green and her long hair came all the way down to her waist were it curled up a little, away from her body. On her head she wore something that seemed like a smallish crown made out of little twigs, with tiny little roses on it. She had beautiful full lips, and a smallish nose. She was curvy and big breasted. She reminded John of mother nature a bit. She had her arms behind her back and as she stepped closer, John realised she was not only bare footed but extremely tall as well. She had to bent over slightly not to bump her head against the ceiling.

            ‘You are beautiful.’ John told her, not quiet believing his eyes. The spirit smiled broadly at that, showing off her perfect, white teeth.

‘Why, thank you. I don’t hear that often.’ She told him. Her voice was warm, like chestnuts roosting on an open fire. John swallowed thickly.

‘Sure you must be.’ He said. She softly let her hand run through John’s hair, giving John the feeling as if five tiny little people were massaging his head. He moaned at the feeling and then blushed. The spirit just smiled and winked at him.

‘You’re a very sweet young man.’ She told him. John couldn’t help but scoff at that.

‘Now, that’s something that I don’t hear very often.’ He said. The spirit leaned in to kiss his cheek.

‘Now we’re even.’ She told him. And then John was lifted up by tiny little golden butterflies. He didn’t care where they came from. He just enjoyed them, watching them flutter around them as the world faded away from him.

            Suddenly the butterflies flew away. John reached out to grab one of them, wanting to keep them and cherish them, but he was stopped by a gentle hand. He turned to see where they were and he frowned as he realised that they were near Richie’s house.

‘What are we doing here?’ John asked the spirit as he turned to look at her. She had to be just a little under 7 feet, John guessed. He had to look up quite a bit to see her face. She looked down at him, her face relaxed and soft.

‘I’m the spirit of Christmas Present, John. We’ve come here to see how other people celebrate Christmas.’ She explained sweetly.

‘What does that have to do with Paul and me?’ John asked her, getting curious now, but also just wanting to get on with it. He didn’t really trusts these  spirits anymore. But he couldn’t really speak up against a woman like this.

‘You’ll see. Patience is a most important virtue.’ She told him matter-of-factly. John nodded and kept quiet as the spirit took his hand, which seemed strangely little now in her hand, and pulled him with her across the slippery street to Ringo’s home. 

            ‘Maureen! Would you come here for a sec. I have something for you.’ John heard his friend shout as they walked up the little path down the front garden to the house. John cocked his head at that and hurried over to the house and looked through a window to see Ringo standing in the living room with a small package behind his back. He was wiggling around a little nervously.

‘Can’t, hon. I’m.. shit… I’m busy here, alright! Shit… I forgot to get whipped cream.’ John heard Maureen call back from the kitchen.

‘Come on, babe. The pie will be fine without whipped cream as well. Just come here for a second. I promise you won’t regret it.’ Ringo called back. John grinned to himself. He knew this kind of scene. He and Cyn had it from time to time as well. Good to know, Ringo had them as well.

‘Fine. But if that pie is ruined, you only have yourself to blame.’ Maureen told him as she walked into the living room, her hair tied up in a high ponytail, wearing a nice red apron and a nice black dress. She had flower of the apron and in her hair. Ringo had obviously noticed as well because as soon as she was within reach he pulled her against him and started to clean her hair with one hand, holding the present still behind his back, making her giggle happily as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

‘I love you so much, Mo.’ Ringo told her with a sigh. She blushed at that and kissed his cheek. When she pulled away Ringo presented her with his gift.

‘Open it.’ He told her sweetly. John held his breath with curiosity as he watched Maureen take her present and kiss Ringo as a thank you before opening it. She pulled a little white striped nave blue one-piece outfit, perfect for a baby of a few weeks old out of it.  She gasped as she saw it and looked up at Ringo with big eyes.

‘How did you-‘ She started asking. Ringo shut her up with a kiss.

‘Do you really think you could hide something like that from me.’ He said. She blinked a couple of times, trying to figure out how he could have known.

‘Patty told me.’ Ringo explained, making Maureen laugh and pull her husband back for a kiss.

‘We’re going to get a baby!’ She laughed. Ringo laughed along and nodded excitedly. ‘I know!’ He said to her, ‘And we’ll be the best parents ever, alright luv?’ Maureen nodded and smiled happily, a tear forming in her eye. Ringo saw it and brushed it away with his finger.

‘Don’t cry, you silly woman.’ He told her affectionately. Maureen shrugged.

‘Sorry.. just… hormones or something.’

‘Oh, well, that’s okay then. As long as it’s for this little one, you can do anything you like.’ Ringo put his hand against his wife’s belly and stared deeply into her eyes before pulling her back for yet another kiss. John couldn’t help but smile at the scene as he noticed how tightly Maureen the little piece of clothing held in her hand.

‘They seem happy, don’t they?’ The warm voice asked him. John nodded.

‘I still don’t understand why you’re showing me this, though.’ He said to her, not looking away from his friend and his wife.

‘See, this is your problem. Once you have a goal in mind, everything else just falls way. You’re pretty much blind, and even you glasses won’t help. Not that you’d wear them anyways.’ She told him teasingly.

‘Eh! You’re supposed the be the nice one, remember.’ John said to the spirit.

‘What on earth gave you that idea? I’ve never said that.’ The spirit answered him. John blushed at that and didn’t reply. The spirit smiled at that.

‘Come on. There’s more to see.’ John nodded and followed her without a moan.

            John grinned as he looked through the next window. He turned his face to her with a furred brow.

‘What’s with the merry Christmas celebration lately?’ He asked her. The spirit just shrugged at that and smiled. She didn’t reply. John looked back into the house.

‘We can go in, if you want to.’ The spirit asked. John quickly shook his head with a laugh.

‘No, rather not. I feel as much as a peeping tom now, imagine actually going inside.’

They were at George and Pattie’s home. They had only just moved in together and John could see they were still crazy about each other. Pattie didn’t seem to able to keep her hands to herself as she sat on George’s lap, his tight skirt ridden up, exposing nearly everything  and she moved delicately, but skilfully with his hips over George’s crotch. It was obvious she was teasing him, for George had his eyes closed, his hands gripping her sides, far too roughly for George’s being. And besides that, Patty had a wicket grin on her face as she leaned down to start sucking at George’s cheekbones, down to the man’s jaw and finally his ear. John felt dirty for being here. Watching himself with a past lover, alright. But this… this was private. No matter what they’d seen each other do back in Hamburg, this was… much more personal, private and John knew he wasn’t supposed to see this. Though, John was still puzzled by the fact that George had managed to get himself a bird that was as pretty as Bridgette Bardot, if not prettier. Because damn, she was fine.

‘Lucky bastard.’ John muttered with a grin before turning away from the window. The spirit was watching him again, her eyes obviously calculating him carefully.

‘Familiar to you?’ She asked. John knew immediately what she was talking about. Stuart… He swallowed deeply before nodding briefly and starting the walk away. But before he could get anywhere he felt the spirit’s grip on him, keeping him from going anywhere but where she wanted him to go.

‘It’s okay, you know. I know you miss him.’ She told him. John growled at her.

‘You don’t know shit.’ He told her, even surprising himself by the force behind his voice. The spirit just seemed to grin at that, though.

‘You say that a lot to people then?’ She asked. John pulled himself free from her grasp and took a few steps away from her, before turning to her again.

‘What do you want to see?’ She asked. John bit his lip.

‘I can see something is troubling you. Please, tell me.’ She pushed him on. John took a deep breath and nodded.

‘Surely I’m not the only one finding Christmas a load of rubbish.’ He said. He wasn’t sure if he was asking a question or not.

‘You tell me.’ The spirit said. John bit his lip as he thought.

‘Brian,’ he told her, ‘Take me to Brian Epstein. Surely he must be lonely.’

‘You’re lonely?’ The spirit asked him, using his choice of words to get information out of him. Not for herself, though, John knew. She knew everything, even though he didn’t want to admit that. John didn’t answer and just grabbed the spirit her wrist.

            When John opened his eyes again, he felt sick. He looked around the room as he tried to breath normally and calm his tummy down by rubbing it. He was in Brian’s bedroom. Surely, the man…

‘Oh, come on, Bri. They are not that bad, are they. They seem lovely on telly.’ A woman’s voice filled the air around them. John turned to the bed with shock. What he saw there was not what he had expected. Brian was sitting on his big king-seized bed, probed up against the headboard, looking as wasted as he probably was, a bottle of wine in his hand. John snorted at that. Of course the posh arse would get drunk on wine. But that was not the most shocking, for next to him sat a young woman, in the end of her twenties. She seemed pretty. Short black hair with a nice pair of jeans and a simple, warm sweater. She had blue eyes, which stood out against her black hair. John cocked his head, not quite getting what they were doing.

‘No, really. I swear. Okay, you’re turn.’ Brian laughed. He sounded ridiculously happy.

‘Fire away, luv.’ She replied with a smile and she took  a sip from the bottle Brian handed to her.

‘If we both don’t find anyone. Ever. Would you marry me?’ Brian asked her. John’s breath got stuck in his throat. The lady gave Brian a look over with a cocked head.

‘And if we get a divorce, I’ll get half?’ She asked him. Brian laughed at that and nodded. She handed him his bottle back.

‘Anything you want, darling.’  He told her. She smiled and curled up against him.

‘Alright. If we’re both not having a relationship in say fifteen years, we’ll marry.’ She told him. Brian smiled happily and took big gulp of wine.

‘Eh, you greedy jew, don’t drink it all.’ She said with a laugh as she reached up and took the bottle away from him. Brian nodded.

‘Alright, alright. You filthy slag.’ John’s jaw nearly dropped. He rarely heard Brian use any kind of foul language, except when he was angry. To hear him use it so casually… felt so strange.

‘Is that John taking your little mind over?’ The lady asked him. Brian nodded.

‘Yeah, it’s getting pretty bad, isn’t it?’

‘How’s he holding up?’ The girl asked. John crooked an eyebrow. The looked over his shoulder at that spirit who seemed to be very interested in the pattern on the Brian’s curtains all of a sudden.

‘Alright, I think. Though, I highly begin to doubt if anything will come out of it. He’s so stupid and stubborn. Well, with this anyways. The stupid. He’s always stubborn.’ Brian answered with a tired sigh.

‘And Paul?’

‘Same.’  Brian answered her, ‘I… He’s not as strong as John is, though. He… John, he got harder by the death of his mum, but Paul… it’s all just a façade, really. Hard nut to crack, yes, but when cracked. Oh boy…’ The young lady sat up at his words and studied him carefully, letting her fingertips slide over Brian’s cheeks.

‘What do you mean?’ She asked him. Brian sighed.

‘I just… John, he… with that mouth of his… he’s going to get himself killed one day if he isn’t careful enough. And Paul… He’s already feeling guilty about his feeling towards John, I can  see it. I’ve been there, but… If nothing happens between those two, I’m not sure if Paul could manage if John would die.’

‘You really over think things too much, luv.’

‘I’m serious. Paul could save John, though. He has self-control, he can keep John in control, but he doesn’t have the guts to. Because he’s afraid of what John will see, or others. What they will think. And most importantly what will happen. He worried, you know. But John. He’s reckless, but clever. He can see when Paul’s overreacting and keep him sane. They can keep each other sane and in balance, but they aren’t now. Not enough anyways. Paul can make sure that John doesn’t make a fatal mistake and get himself killed, and John can make sure Paul can cope. Without that, John will die and Paul won’t be able to cope. God knows what will happen to him then.’ Brian spoke softly and quietly, his voice tiny. The lady just whispered: ‘I’m glad you can keep me sane. I’m really grateful that you are my friend, Brian. I don’t know where I’d be without you.’ She told him as she laid back down, her head lying on Brian’s shoulder.

‘They need each other, Lizzy. More than they even realise themselves.’ He added.

            ‘What was that about?’ John asked angrily as they walked the cold streets. The spirit had told him it was time to go and had left without another word, making John follow him without giving him the change to object. Even know she choose to ignore him.

‘What did he mean, when I die? And with Paul not being able to cope? What’s going to happen, spirit? What?’ John asked, his voice raised and desperate. The spirit stopped abruptly, making John almost bump up against her.

‘I’m not the spirit to tell you that.’ She told him calmly. John kicked a rock away angrily.

‘Rubbish,’  he shouted at her, ‘Rubbish. Just fucking tell me!’

‘I’m the spirit of Christmas present. Not the one of the future. I can’t tell you, because I don’t _know!_ ’ She told him, her voice sounding like thunder on a cold, windy and silent night. John’s heart skipped a beat in shock.

‘But… But Paul?’ John asked her again. The spirit shook his head and looked away.

‘Drop it. We don’t have much time left and there is one last thing I need to show you.’ The spirit told him. John grumbled a little, but followed nonetheless, hoping to find out more.

            ‘We’re here.’ The spirit told him, her voice sounding tired. John looked around the street. Abbey Roads studios? What were they doing here? Surely this place was abandoned by now. He looked back at the spirit with a questionable look.

‘Why are we here.’ John asked her, sounding a bit too snappy than he had liked, though this one didn’t change colour when she got angry, he surely didn’t want to find out what would happened if she was mad.

‘Don’t you want to know what Paul is doing tonight?’ The spirit asked. John crooked an eyebrow and nodded.

‘Yes, but… then why are we here?’ He asked. The spirit pointed at the big glass window.

‘Look for yourself.’ She told him before pushing him towards it.

            John didn’t believe his eyes as he saw Paul McCartney sitting behind the grand piano in the studio, playing a sad tune in the dark. He turned back to the spirit with big eyes, but she was already gone. John took a deep breath and decided to go and have a look inside himself. With or without that spirit.

            John wondered what Paul was doing there. He was sitting against the piano stool next to Paul on the floor as he listened to the man play. He would play anything that pleased him. Christmas songs, Beatles songs, Stones songs, Dylan songs, Rock and Roll, Elvis, occasionally some Jazz, probably having it picked up from his dad. Or sometimes just nothing. Just sweet, tender piano music that Paul just made up in his head, letting his emotions flow out of his fingers, and into the piano which turned it into sweet music, which sounded almost magical like. The man truly was a born musician. There wasn’t anything the man could do better.

Then suddenly the music stopped and John looked up. Paul sighed and let a hand run through his messy hair before letting his face fall onto the piano keys, making the instrument make the most dramatic musical sounds with some creaking mixed with it. He groaned loudly in annoyance.

‘I fucked it up, didn’t I?’ The man asked himself. John stared at his song writing partner, not sure what to do. Not that he could actually do anything. Knowing that, it was even more frustrating.

‘Fuck, John…’ The younger man muttered weakly, making John’s heart stop beating within his chest. Had Paul now really said his name?

‘Fuck you, John. Just fuck you! With your happy family and your prefect child and your perfect life and your perfect songs and your perfect body.’ Paul nearly shouted that last, making John feel exposed, even though Paul couldn’t even see him. What was Paul talking about.

‘Fuck you, John! Just fuck you!’ Paul softly began to sob. John rose up and laid a hand on Paul’s shoulder, the man didn’t notice a thing, of course, but it comforted John nonetheless.

‘I’m here for you, Macca.’ John told his friend as he began to sob harder.

‘I… I just… Was it really that much to ask for?!’ Paul suddenly shouted up at the starts above him, snapping his head up to watch himself do it.

‘John…’ Paul sobbed again, before everything went black again.

            ‘Why was Paul there? Crying? Calling out my name?’ John asked the spirit as she came back to him. They were still in the blind spot.

‘Seems like you’re not the only miserable one, after all.’ The spirit told him.

‘But… but why? He has Jane! His folks! His other friends! His fangirls! Why isn’t he at his party?’ John asked him. The spirit grinned and the next time he breathed in again, he was back, alone, panting heavily as he could still hear Paul’s sobbing in his head. 

* * *

 

John didn’t understand what he had just witnessed and it annoyed him immensely. It was as if his mind just seemed to refuse to understand it. Stu’s visit, the spirits, the memories, long forgotten, painful and now burning in his mind like an ripped open wound, Brian’s words, Paul being miserable, calling out his name like a religious soldier would cry out God’s  as he realised death was upon him. It was as if his mind couldn’t grasp that one little bit of vital information that would make this all clear as day. But his mind couldn’t find it, no matter how hard John concentrated. And what truly remained a mystery to him, was why that fucking third spirit hadn’t showed up yet. The second one had already been here when the first had brought him home again. Why wasn’t the third one here?!

            John took a deep breath and took a couple of deep breaths. He needed to relax. Maybe the last spirit would open his eyes and give him that bit of vital information. If only he could here soon? Where was he? John groaned and got off the bed. He quickly put on a pair of jeans and a shirt with a brown leather jacket. If that spirit wasn’t coming to give him any answer, he just have to get them himself. He needed to go over to the studio and talk to Paul. Obviously something wasn’t right. And what was that kissing thing of last year?

            John quickly moved across the bedroom and grabbed the doorknob tightly and twisted it, pushing the door open roughly. He nearly fainted as he saw a dark figure standing behind it. He froze on the spot, doorknob still in his hand. He carefully looked up and held his breath. The figure was completely dressed in black with a black cap over his head, making it impossible to see any more of the figure’s face than two bright shining orange lights. His clothes were more likes robes, one would see on a wizard in movies and books, but completely black and obviously old, for it was ripped, dirty with dust and spider webs, and well-worn.

            ‘The third spirit…’ John mumbled softly as he continued to stare at the figure. The cap moved back and forth a bit, as if the spirit was nodding “yes”.

‘I… I, you’re a lot scarier than your colleagues that have been here before you.’ John said with a faint chuckle, which he added more to calm his own nerves than because he felt like it. The spirit didn’t reply. John licked his lips nervously.

‘You’re here to show me my future, aren’t you?’ John asked. The spirit didn’t answer and just stayed quiet and didn’t as much as move.

‘You’re going to give me the answer I need.’ John told him. The spirit again said nothing, did nothing and didn’t even seem to notice John at all. John cocked his head to the side as he gave the spirit a look over. He truly was terrifying.

‘Excuse me for asking,’ John started politely, not wanting to piss of _this_ particular spirit, ‘But, do you talk at all? I mean, you haven’t said a thing yet, and I don’t mean to hurt your feelings in anyway, but… your colleagues were very talkative, so I thought… you know? Do you?’ John scratched the back of his head, hoping he hadn’t sounded too daft. The spirit shook his head almost unnoticeable, but John saw it and he nodded.

‘Alright,’ He said with a faint, nervous smile, ‘I’ll talk for us both then.’ Suddenly, with one swift move, the spirit offered John his arm, stretching his arm almost completely, giving John a terrifying glimpse of a rotten looking fingers under the long sleeve of the spirit’s robe. John took a deep breath as he saw it and looked at the spirit from the corner of his eye. The spirit wasn’t looking at him. John sighed and closed his eyes as he carefully reached out to take the spirit his arm. It felt as if he was closing his fingers over a bone, rather than an arm. He shuddered before he felt himself being pulled up roughly by a sudden harsh blow of wind. 

            When John and the spirit landed back on solid ground, John couldn’t recognize where he was. He was at something that looked like a farm. He looked around curiously and noticed he must be in the country for there was not another house in sight. He wondered who in the name of the lord would choose this place as a home. He turned to look at the spirit and he gasped as he saw the spirit’s hand, black and rotten with almost bare lying bones, pointed at the house. John swallowed thickly and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down.  Then he nodded at the spirit, to say he understood what he needed to do and stepped closer to the home, to a window where he could see into the house.

            The home was comfy, large and beautifully decorated. John noticed a most familiar Hofner bass standing in the corner of the room next to a big piano. There were three big, white, soft-looking couches in the middle of the room, which looked extremely comfortable and he wished he could lie down on one of them. On the wooden floor lay a beautiful, big rug made of wool. There were lying some toys all over the floor, probably that of a little baby girl, not yet that old. On the crème coloured walls hung beautiful pieces of art that John expected to be rather expensive. The whole room seemed extremely cosy. He nearly jumped as he heard a door open. John immediately recognized the person walking in. Though he was a couple of years older, probably being approaching his thirties, Paul looked like he hadn’t changed that much over the years. He seemed older, a little more plumb, but also more muscular and overall just extremely good. He had a slight beard and his hairstyle still looked like the mob tops they wore today, but just slightly different. Paul looked more like a father. Like a young father should look like. But his face was different. He looked sad, unkempt and just exhausted. John wondered what was wrong.

            ‘Lin! I’m back!’ He shouted. _God,_ John mused to himself, _He even still sounds the exact same._ He took off his coat and threw on the couch before letting himself fall on it as well. A beautiful, young woman came in with a little girl in his arms as well.

‘How was it?’ She asked, her accent sounded somewhat American. She sat down next to Paul and put the girl in his lap as Paul laid her head on her shoulder.

‘Not too, bad. Let’s say most of it on our part is over. The legal stuff is still going, but it’s pretty much all over.’ He sighed as he wrapped his arms around the girl and held her against him. John assumed she was his daughter. And the blond woman his wife. John gritted his teeth at that. Paul got married. The arse. He didn’t understand why that made him upset, but it did. And what was all this talk about legal business. What’s over?

‘Good,’ The woman said as she kissed Paul’s head, ‘Was John there?’ She asked. John’s heart started to beat faster as he heard his name. The reaction however, was not what he had anticipated.

‘No. Thank god. Too busy shagging that ugly bint of his, I’m sure.’ Paul told her coldly, his face having gone from sad to angry within merely a second. John felt hurt at his words. What ugly bint?

‘She’s not ugly, Paul. You know that. It’s not her fault that all of this happened. It was just everything all together, you know. And besides, you knew all along that you four couldn’t go on forever.’ The woman, Paul had called Lin, told her husband. Paul sighed and buried his face in the woman’s neck.

‘I know. I’m sorry… it’s just…’ He said quietly.

‘I understand, luv. It’s alright. But it’s not like you to blame people who don’t have anything to do with it. Even something important as this.’ The woman replied. Paul sighed at that and nodded.

‘It’s still so hard to believe it really ended. It seemed for a while as if we really could continue doing this forever. But apparently not even The Beatles can last.’ He said, ‘What am I going to do now, Linda? I have nothing left, apart from you. I pissed them all off with the suing and George doesn’t even want to talk  to me right now. What am I going to do now? What can I do? John’s right. I’m just a worthless piece of shit.’ John felt his heart stop briefly at that. Why would he tell Paul that. Paul was the best musician he had ever known! The man could do anything. No one was more talented than Paul. Had he ever told him that?

‘Paul, luv. What you’re going to is very simple. You’re an amazing musician. You were in the best band of the decade, century even, and you’re just going to continue. On your own or with a new band, it doesn’t matter. I’m here for you and we’re going to get through this. You’re album did well this year, didn’t it. It was received well and so will your other works, I’m sure. Alright?’ The woman told her husband as she pulled him against her. The little hugged as well, making the two chuckle. Paul wiped his eyes, making John wonder if he had been crying, and pulled that little girl back against him and kissed her sweetly.

‘Come on. It’s Christmas. Let’s at least try to make something from this. What’s done is done, anyways.’ He said, his voice loud again, but sounding weak. He rose up from the couch with the girl and started to walk to the door.

‘Let’s go and have a look at that turkey mum is making for us, yeah?’ Paul asked his daughter. Linda sighed as she watched them leave.

‘John, you fucking idiot,’ She said to herself, ‘If only you knew what you could have had if you only had opened your eyes a little.’ Then she stood up and followed her husband and child quietly.

            ‘We broke up?’ John asked the spirit as he walked back, ‘The Beatles broke up, Paul got married, and he sued us?’ The spirit didn’t answer, making John chuckle and shook his head.

‘Of course you don’t answer. You can’t talk. Or you refuse to. Either one. It doesn’t matter. I can’t believe it. Did I really say he was useless and had no talent?’ Again the spirit didn’t react. He just looked down at John with his orange eyes. John sighed and stuck out his hand.

‘Come on, then. You’re not going to talk. Let’s just move on.’ He told the spirit. The spirit reached out for John and soon John felt himself being lifted up the ground again.

            A white room. All white. Completely white. John didn’t know if he liked it. It wasn’t sterile as one might expect. It was cosy, somewhat. But the lack of colour. It was so strange. It almost blinded him. On the couch sat an older version of himself. About ten years older. He had long short hair, shorter than now, he wore a pair of round, granny glasses and he looked skinny. Was he fat now? John looked down at himself. He had a bit of a tummy… Next to him on the couch sat a little Japanese woman with long black hair. She was dressed in black, which stood out against the couch. John cocked his head with curiosity. He had his arm around her. But she wasn’t Cyn… And he never sat like that with a fan.

‘Another cup of tea, mother?’ the older John asked her sweetly, affectionately. He snorted at himself. He rarely ever spoke like that.  Only sometimes to Cyn. One in a while to Paul, but that was it. What the hell was going on?

‘Yes, please.’ The woman answered. She had a strange pitched voice, not high, but not low and it sounded somewhat annoying. He could barely understand her. With the accent and all.

‘Well, I’ll be right back, then.’ John answered, leaning in to kiss her before standing up and walking away, probably to the kitchen. John wondered if that was just a white as this room. Probably. Was this her apartment? It was large. John started to walk around for a bit. He found a few Christmas decorations here and there, but nothing much to speak off. There was a little Christmas tree standing in the corner. There also stood a beautiful grand piano in the room. Could he actually play well now? Like Paul could? That would be great. He should practise more.

            ‘I got a letter from Jules.’ The older John shouted from the kitchen. John smiled at the mention of his son. Where was he anyways? ‘And Cynthia. To wish us a Merry Christmas and a happy New Year. Julian seems to do well at school. He’s a clever boy, though he’s mostly interested in music. He got that from me, I think.’ Older John added with a happy laugh. The woman on the couch looked up.

‘That’s good. You should write back.’ She told him. John came back in with two mugs of tea. He nodded with a smile.

‘I will.’ He answered. John frowned at that. Did he get divorced? Seemed like it. Was she his new wife? She seemed interesting, but as a wife? Well… why not, right? She wasn’t the most beautiful one on the earth, but she was fine-looking and seemed as someone who could have caught his eye.

‘Paul didn’t send anything, though.’ The older John continued. The woman on the couch fell silent and turned back to the book she was reading.

‘I miss working with him. Maybe I should give him a call.’

‘No, John,’ the woman replied sternly, ‘He’ll only get you hurt again.’

‘You don’t know that.’

‘No, indeed I don’t. But I was there when you guys broke up. I saw how much he hurt you, how much you hurt him. It’s not fair. To either of you. Please… don’t do this to yourself. To us.’ She almost pleaded. John watched the pair silently, not getting much of the conversation, but enough to know what he and Paul got into a fight.

It stayed silent for a while, before the older John sighed and sat back onto the couch next to the person who was supposedly his wife.

‘I regret it, you know,’ He told her, ‘If only I hadn’t…’

‘It’s okay.’ The woman interrupted him.

‘It’s killing me, not knowing what could have been. What we could have had. Together. And what would have become of us. I wished I had taken that chance.’

‘You didn’t know it was there, John.’

‘Yes, I understand that!’ John snapped, ‘I just… I love him, mother. I do. But now it’s over.’ He laid his head with on her shoulder and closer his eyes. The woman turned her face to him and kissed his head.

‘And this is why you shouldn’t go back to him. You’ll only get hurt. It’s over. You’ve had your chance, you didn’t take it and now it’s over. But you have me now. You love me, don’t you?’

‘Of course I do!’

‘And I love you. Don’t let yourself get more hurt than needed, John.’ The woman said to his older version kindly. John saw himself nod before looking up and kissing her. He himself turned back to the spirit, who did nothing more than standing there.

‘They were talking about Paul and me, weren’t they?’ He asked the spirit. The spirit didn’t reply. Instead he offered his arm, which John took without another word, not looking back at the pair on the couch anymore.

            It was old and dark. They were at a graveyard. For a change there wasn’t any snow or ice, which surprised John. Instead he could see the dirt, the mud and grass and the tiny little stones that formed a path. John looked up at the spirit, not knowing what he was supposed to do. The spirit just motioned him to follow the path. John nodded, knowing now he wasn’t going to get much more than that of the spirit and started walking. He could feel the spirit following him.

            John didn’t hear a thing as he walked further and further down the path. Not a birds chirped, not a cat meowed, not a dog barked, no animal moved. It was completely dark. He couldn’t even hear the wind blow. It was almost scary. He shuddered at the thought and moved on, brushing twigs away with his arms once in a while. He was glad he was wearing normal clothing again instead of his pyjamas. Suddenly he heard something that sounded like a silent sob not far away from him. In shock he turned to the spirit, who pointed into the direction of the sound. John followed his bony finger and saw someone sitting on the grass at some grave. John recognized the grave. It was that of his mum.

            John slowly crept closer and closer to the grave, almost forgetting that the man couldn’t hear him even if he started to start drumming and screaming like a madman as hard and loud as he could right there and then. He cocked his head and squinted his eyes to see better. He regretted not wearing his glasses. They were all right. He couldn’t see a damn without them. Yet, when he was near enough, about a couple of meters away, he immediately saw who it was without a doubt. Paul was sitting there, kneeled at his mother’s grave, flowers held tightly in his hands, tears rolling from his cheeks. Paul was getting old, John could see. He must have been forty, give or take a few. His hair was slowly turning grey and he wore a pair of loose sitting, but still amazingly flattering fitting, dark grey jeans, with a white with grey stripped button up shirt and a black jacket. John wasn’t so sure about the fashion of those days, but it suited Paul nonetheless. He was forming slight wrinkles at his eyes and his hair was messy, but still long as ever. He looked good. Very good, apart from the red, puffy eyes and dark wrinkles under his eyes. John groaned at that. He hated seeing Paul upset, angry or sad or depressed. But the so far none of the spirits have gone easy on him. John felt his own throat tighten as he watched Paul softly cry to himself. He wondered what Paul was doing here, but he know that asking the spirit would be no help to him. So, instead… he just waited for Paul to speak.

            It took a while before he did. But John didn’t really mind that much. He was already glad he could be there with Paul, anyways. But when he did, John felt himself hanging at Paul’s pink lips.

‘You must think I’m a right idiot, don’t you John?’ He asked. John wasn’t sure if he was talking directly to him or not. Paul seemed to talk to him a lot even though he wasn’t there, though.

‘Sitting here. In the cold. At Christmas eve. And not even at the right grave. But I needed something. And with her having your ashes. I hope this will do.’ He chuckled sadly and shook his head as he rubbed his forehead.

‘But… I feel so restless lately. With you not being here anymore. I… I don’t know what to do anymore. Linda is trying to get me through this all, so you shouldn’t worry too much about me. She’s a real angle, you know. Of course you know. You’ve met her. I’m sorry we didn’t get to meet again after that.’ Paul spoke to the grave as he traced it with his fingertips. He swallowed visibly and shifted a little so he was more comfortable. John watched him carefully. It stayed quiet for a while before Paul started talking again, his voice a lot softer this time.

‘I… I love you, John. I do! Like I’ve never loved anyone before in my life. You’re… you’re everything to me. How could you do this to me? To leave me here? After all this time… I didn’t even get a change to say goodbye. You were just… gone… taken away from the world. From me. Do you have any idea how terrible that one little phone call was for me. I couldn’t cope with it, you know. I just sat there, white as a sheet until Linda came home from taking the kids to school. I just sat there. I could have sat now if it hadn’t been for Linda. Did you see it coming, John? Did you know this was going to happen? Did you? Because I didn’t. Not at all…

I fucking love you, you dirty fucker. More than anything. And you didn’t even notice. You, of all people, didn’t notice how much it hurt me when you were with Cyn, or even just talked about her and your kid. You didn’t see how much you were hurting me when you started seeing Yoko. You were so fucking blind. And now you’re gone. And now it truly is all too late. Like you told me. It’s too fucking late.’ Paul sobbed and let his head rest against the gravestone. John swallowed thickly, letting Paul’s words sink in.

‘I hope you’ll get to hear this. I… I’m not sure, but I do hope so. Because I won’t be saying them again. Or I hope your mum will hear this and tell her son about this. I hope she’ll tell you about how much you’ve hurt me. And that I still love you. Sometimes I wish that you could come back, that we could still give it a shot right now. Or better still, go back in time and do it all over again. But better. A past with an _us_ in it. That would be grand. But then I realise that that isn’t possible and that I’m being a complete nutter for even thinking about it.’ Paul spoke with a sad voice, as he looked up again, at the sky this time. John did the same, not knowing why, but he felt as if he needed to. Paul suddenly smiled and chuckled sadly.

‘And then, I realise that there is a chance for us to be together. One… last… change. I’ve talked to Linda about it. She thinks it’s ridiculous, but she doesn’t understand. No one does. I’m sure Brian would have, had he been alive still. But she is right. It is crazy. But it’s the only way. You understand, don’t you John? The last way out…’ Paul sighed and looked back down. He leaned in and kissed the cold stone before standing up. John rose to his feet as Paul did and watched him as he smiled down at the grave one last time.

‘I’ll be seeing you very soon, John. And Julia, if that’s you, then hurry up with this massage. You don’t have much time.’ He chuckled sadly and zipped up his leather jacket almost completely before starting to walk away. John watched him quietly for a while before feeling the cold of the spirit against his neck. He turned around. the spirit pointed at Paul, obviously saying John had to follow Paul. His robe moved with the quiet wind. John nodded and quickly ran after Paul.

            John followed Paul almost all over Liverpool until they found themselves by a bridge. John hadn’t known this bridge and he wondered if he still was in Liverpool in the first place. Paul stood at the railing looking over the rough water. The moon was high and shined down at him, giving him a light silver shine. The sight was breathtakingly  beautiful. He put his hands in his pocket and slowly approached the man, who was now so much older than him. The realisation was strangely captivating. He sighed and moved to stand next to the man he loved with his back to the railing, leaning against it so he could watch Paul’s face. He seemed strangely relaxed, as opposed to before at the graveyard. He looked almost, determined and relieved. As if a large burden was being lifted off his shoulders. John saw the spirit standing behind Paul, like a thread.

‘What is he doing here?’ John asked him, not caring if he didn’t get an answer back. He needed to ask it, even if there was no point.

‘What is he going to do?’ The spirit, as expected, didn’t answer him. John sighed and looked back at Paul. A smile had crept onto his face. John cocked his head and grabbed the railing a little tighter, afraid of what Paul was going to do.

            ‘So this is how it will end then?’ Paul asked someone. John didn’t know who. ‘On a cold Christmas morning. Is it morning?’ Paul shrugged at that last and took a deep breath as he looked down, straight over the railing.

‘I’ve never wondered what drowning felt like…’ he told that person again. John wondered if he was talking to himself, but he decided he didn’t care much as he listened closely to his friend. ‘It never seemed important. Never even crossed my mind for that matter. Buddy Holly died in a plane crash. Elvis on a  toilet. And you, John, got shot. And now it’s my turn. Paul McCartney drowned in the river. It’s a scary thought. But it will be worth it, won’t it? I’ll see you again. Will you be there when I arrive? I hope you are.’ Paul said softly. John felt every muscle in his body tense up. Was Paul seriously suggesting…

‘Paul…’ John heard himself say, which he knew was stupid because he knew Paul couldn’t hear him, ‘Don’t you fucking dare.’ He watched as Paul closed his eyes and took a couple of deep breaths before he put his feet on the railing. John stood up straight, ready to grab Paul if needed. Surely Paul wasn’t seriously going to jump. This was Paul. Paul was tough. He had self-control. He wasn’t the type. He simply wasn’t the type to do this. It didn’t make sense.

‘Goodnight, John. See you there, luv.’ Paul said loudly before he lifted himself up and quickly jumped over. John gasped at that and jumped forward, hoping to catch Paul before he could jump, but his arms just went right through him and Paul jumped. He didn’t even scream as he fell down and if it wasn’t for the big splash, John could have sworn it hadn’t happened. It had happened so quickly. One moment Paul had been standing there, watching time pass away and the next he was gone. John immediately jumped into action after hearing that. He took off his jacket and quickly jumped after him, shouting out Paul’s name as he did so. He didn’t even feel the cold water surrounding him as he hit the water. He couldn’t breathe for a while, until he let his head snap back, only to find himself back in his bed, drenched in sweat, still wearing his clothes, even his jacket. He immediately jumped off the bed and raced out of the bedroom, down the stairs and out of the door. He had to find Paul. 

* * *

 

When John was finally standing at the door to the Abbey Road studios, it was already light, John guessed it must be nine ‘o clock or something, and he was hyperventilating. It was terribly cold and John wished he had taken a jacket with him. He also wished he had taken a moment to lie calmly on his bed before running off. But he had to find Paul. He couldn’t let this happen to him. To them. He just couldn’t.

            He leaned over the little gate that blocked the windows from the pavement and peeked through the window, seeing if Paul was still there. And he was. Thank god. He was sitting where John had last seen him, on the piano stool. But now his head laid on top of the piano and his eyes were closed. His mouth hung slightly open, and he appeared to be drooling slightly. John smiled at the adorable sight and quickly stepped inside.

 

            John sneaked into the studio quietly, not wanting to startle Paul or wake him up. He must have had a rough night, maybe as rough as John himself, so he deserved a good sleep. John closed the door softly behind him and tiptoed over to his friend, where he kneeled down. He moved his hand to lay it on Paul’s shoulder, but half way he changed his mind and instead he softly stroked Paul’s cheek with the back of his fingers. John’s smile widened as he felt Paul leaning into the touch. He slowly moved his hand up over the man’s cheekbones, to his ear, brushing a few hairs away from his face, and tangled his hand in the man’s hair. He started to gently play with it.

‘Paul…’ John called him very softly, his voice high. He saw the man’s eyes twitch at the call of his name but he didn’t wake up.

‘Paul, luv. Time to wake up.’ John said again, a little louder as he pushed Paul’s almost black hair back, ‘It’s Christmas.’ John added that last with a slight tremble in his voice, not yet being costumed to saying that word out loud like that. Paul’s face twitched and the man groaned softly. John cocked his head and leaned forward a bit too see Paul’s face closer.

Slowly the man’s eyes began to open, making him look like a tired puppy, who had just slept very fastly, but briefly.

‘Morning, Paulie.’ John spoke to him with a happy laugh as Paul lifted his head off of the piano and rubbed his eyes cutely. The man smiled as he noticed John staring at him and still stroking his hair. Paul didn’t say anything about it, wanting to enjoy the good feeling John’s fingers were giving him.

‘What are you doing here?’  He asked him instead, his voice still thick with sleep. John shrugged and continued to stroke Paul’s hair. He figured, as long as Paul didn’t object, why stop? It felt immensely good. John followed Paul with his eyes as the bassist sat up on the stool and began to fiddle around a bit with his clothing, especially that what was around his neck. John felt a strange tinkle as he saw red stripes in Paul’s neck. Probably of his tie that was still tied tightly around the man’s neck. John let his hand fall down from Paul’s hair and started to help Paul loosen his tie. Paul didn’t say anything and just stared at John as he felt John’s hands brush against his as they worked. Slowly Paul lowered his hands and just waited for John to finish what he was doing, watching his movement as he did so.

‘I could ask you the same thing, you know.’ John answered Paul’s question with a knowing wink, making Paul blush, ‘Didn’t you have a Christmas party to attend?’ Paul sighed tiredly at that and shook his head. John took off Paul’s tie completely and threw it on the ground before laying his hands down on Paul’s thighs. When Paul didn’t objects, he began to move his hands sweetly up and down the man’s leg.

‘No. Jane, she… she wanted to spend Christmas with her parents. I think it wasn’t very clever of me to tell her that I did not want to spend my Christmas with those scruffy old ghosts she called parents.’ Paul answered him with a sad chuckle. John laughed with him and squeezed his thigh.

‘She threw me out and left without me. I didn’t have nowhere to go.’ Paul told him.

‘You crazy sod. You could have come to me!’ John told him with a laugh.

‘Yes, and ruin your perfect Christmas with your perfect, lovely, beautiful wife and more perfect, beautiful child.’ Paul said. He nearly spat the words out, John could hear and he remembered what Paul had said by Julia’s grave. How much the thought of him and his family had hurt him. John’s throat tightened and he didn’t say anything for a while, feeling hopelessly terrible for making Paul feel that way. He didn’t want to hurt Paul. He didn’t want to upset him. He… He loved him.

            John could tell Paul had noticed his change in mood. He was looking at him with wide eyes and he was chewing his lips, like he knew John had figured it out. John nearly jumped as he felt Paul lay a trembling hand on his shoulder.

‘Thanks, though.’ He said gently. John smiled up at him.

‘Paul, even if that had been the case, you wouldn’t have ruined it. And besides, you can always come to me. Never mind the time or day.’ He told him. Paul chuckled and took his face in his hands. John could see he was blushing. Knowing that was because of him, made him feel warm inside and he realised he wouldn’t mind to see those pink cheeks more often. Especially when he was being so close to him.

‘I feel so stupid now.’ Paul half giggled, half spoke. John laughed along and moved his hands up over Paul’s arms and laid them onto of Paul’s. John sat up on his knees and before he knew it he was leaning forward, taking Paul’s hand away from the man’s beautiful face and he could feel Paul’s hitching breath against his lips. He looked deep into the younger man’s innocent-looking, puppy eyes and felt a fluttering in his stomach. He even had to bite back a groan of both arousal and want as Paul’s lips fell apart.

‘John,’ Paul suddenly spoke, his voice sounding breathy, ‘What are you doing?’ John blinked a few times and backed away a little as he let the question sink in.

‘I-I don’t know..’ He answered truthfully. What was he doing? Had he meant on kissing him? He felt his cock twitch with desire at the thought. John took a deep breath before looking away and letting his hands drop onto Paul’s lap. He could see Paul studying his face doubtfully from the corner of his eyes.

‘You…’ Paul started, making John look back into his eyes almost immediately, ‘You didn’t have to stop, you know. I was just asking.’ John watched Paul carefully, trying to read him as he felt Paul lift a hand and use it to cup one of his cheeks. John practically shuddered as Paul began to stroke his cheek with his thumb.

‘I don’t know what we’re doing either,’ Paul spoke again, ‘But I know that I don’t mind it. Feels kind of… alright.’ He smiled weakly at him, but that smile soon disappeared when John opened his mouth, probably thinking he had said something wrong, of something he shouldn’t have said.

‘That’s why I’m here, actually.’ John said as he pulled away from Paul’s touch, leaving Paul’s hand hanging mid-air, his thumb still making the caressing movements John had felt only seconds ago on his cheek. Even now he could still feel that spot tinkle.

‘You’re here because that felt alright?’ Paul asked with a faint chuckle. He quickly took his hand back as he realised what he was doing. John shook his head.

‘No. Well, yes. But not just that… it’s just… I don’t know how to say this, but…’ He took a deep breath, ‘Last year, Christmas eve. Do you remember that?’ Paul nodded with a crocked eyebrow.

‘Yes, Why?’

‘Because… Listen Paul, I had a dream last night and I dreamed about this and… I know that when we were sitting on that curb, talking, you wanted to kiss me. And you almost had.’ John spoke quickly, his mouth almost moving too fast to make the proper sounds. Paul didn’t say anything. It almost seemed as if he had been frozen to his seat, like a child getting caught playing with something he wasn’t allowed to play with. His eyes… they looked scared.

‘I… I didn’t…’ Paul tried, but John shook his head.

‘No, Paul. I know it. I’ve seen it.’

‘It was just a dream, John. You must have imagined it.’

‘I _haven’t_ imagined it.’ John snapped. Paul’s eyes grew wide at that and John took a deep breath, not wanting to hurt or scare Paul away. He had to do this right.

‘Paul, I’m not angry, I’m not… disgusted or anything. I’m just… curious.’

‘Curious?’

John nodded. Paul bit his lip and looked down at his hands in his lap as he thought about that.

‘Curious about why you didn’t.’ John added. Paul looked up at him with big eyes, his breath caught in his throat. Then John moved quickly, he slid his hand to the back of Paul’s neck and pulled him towards him as he leaned in and quickly pressed his lips against Paul’s for something that was intended to be a quick kiss. Just a taste and leaving Paul to wonder if it had truly happened. But, when he felt Paul tense up under his lips he only pressed against him harder, his grip on him tightening, keeping him against him and he moaned, almost desperately against him. This might be the last kiss he’d ever share with the other man, so he needed to make this bloody count. Make it as rememberable and  good as possible. He felt Paul struggle lightly against him, but he didn’t care. He needed it. Just one kiss. He moved his hand into Paul’s hair so he could hold his head still and with just a quick pull he managed to make Paul gasp, opening his mouth for him. John quickly took his chance and carefully licked into Paul’s mouth, hoping the man wouldn’t bite his tongue off. And Paul didn’t. He only struggled harder and John could hear him moaning against his lips as he did so. He sucked briefly at Paul’s plumb lower lip before finally releasing him, only because he needed to catch his breath.

            Paul quickly drew back, nearly falling off his seat and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. He stared at John with big eyes, obviously being shocked. John took a deep breath and bawled his hands into fists so he could squeeze himself the relieve himself of some of that tension that was now in his body.

‘What the hell was that for?’ Paul exclaimed almost as a whisper, due to disbelieve and plain shock.

‘I wanted to kiss you.’ John told him, not sure what else to say.

‘Why?!’ Paul asked him.

‘Because I like you.’ John simple answered with a smile. Paul groaned and buried is face in his hands.

‘You’ve got no idea what you’re doing to me, John.’ He told him.

‘I have a rather good idea on that matter, Paul.’ John replied, his voice cold. He gritted his teeth and took a deep breath as Paul looked up at him.

‘Explain.’ Paul asked him. John nodded.

            ‘I… I’m gonna… you. You’re going to get… fuck…’ Paul said as he took his head in his hands and leaned on the piano, taking everything in John had just told him. It seemed unbelievable. Strange, and completely illogical. How could Stuart have been there? And the other ghosts. Or spirits. Whatever. They did not exist. And… but how did John know that all then, about Brian and George and Ringo. Brian had told him he had a friend coming over when he had called him if he could crash at his place after he’d been thrown out. And John had known. And he had known about him, sitting here alone and crying. Paul felt his cheeks get hot as he imagined John sitting there, where he was sitting now, listening to him crying out for him. Cursing him.

‘Paul, I know it’s hard to grasp, believe me, I still can’t believe it happened and I was there. But… I do care about you. And I know you care about me. Well, more than just care for me. You… you gave up your life here to be with me, Paul. Yes, it’s crazy, but… I find it sweet. To think you’d go that far. And… why wait for so long, eh? Until we’re both death and burned to ashes or flushed away by the river, if we could go for it now, living without thinking what if and just _enjoy_. Take our time and make it last longer than 1980. Make it until we’re ninety and almost gone to dust.’ John said to him sweetly, lovingly and kindly. He rubbed Paul’s thighs again and looked up at Paul as he waited for his answer. Paul didn’t say anything, though.

‘And… I don’t do this to save myself. Or you. I want you, Paul. I… I think I love you.’ John added. Paul’s eyes grew wide at his words.

‘L-love. Isn’t it a little early for that?’ He asked. John smiled and shook his head.

‘Not when it comes to you.’ He told him. Paul smiled at that and cupped John’s cheek in his linker hand before leaning in and kissing him again, coaxing a moan from John’s lips. John responded by moving his lips against Paul’s, massaging him in a sense, and putting his hands on Paul’s hips pulling him closer to him.

‘So, what do you say, Paul?’ John asked as they broke away, ‘Would you give me a chance? I can be a good boyfriend, ask Stuart if he pops up again.’ Paul laughed at that and continued to caress John’s cheek with his thumb as he replied.

‘Would that be what this would make us?’ He asked, ‘Boyfriends?’ John could hear the doubtful hitch as Paul’s spoke to him.

‘If that’s what you want. We… we don’t have to be. We can be whatever we want.’ John answered him. When he saw Paul grinning at him, he felt himself relax.

‘In that case,’ Paul said to him, ‘I would love to.’ John bit his lip so he wouldn’t cry out with happiness at those words and instead wrapped his arms tightly around Paul, pulling him as close to him as possible.

‘Can I wrap you in Christmas paper, put you under my tree and unwrap you as my Christmas present?’  John asked Paul as they continued to kiss.

‘You like Christmas then?’ Paul asked him, ‘I thought you hated it.’

‘Nonsense! Not now that I have you to celebrate it with.’ John answered. Paul broke away from the older man and cocked his head as if he was thinking.

‘Well,’ He said, looking back at the man with a giggle, ‘In this case, why not.’

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was graciously imported from tumblr by [CJD](https://chut-je-dors.tumblr.com/) who is a good friend and overall pretty amazing. Suck it, Puck


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